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Where Reality Meets The Blur

RBlog is the section of Reality Blurs where we talk about publishing + other passions. Y'know, things we have in development and cool things bouncing around our noggins and/or the Internet. If you want to buy stuff, please visit the shop. If you want to comment, feel free, but if you want interactive dialogue, check out the community.

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together… Agents of Oblivion Teaser

As you know, I’ve been piecing together all the disparate pieces of Agents of Oblivion for what I say as its imminent release, and I mean it. It is soooo close, the metallic smell of gun oil fills my nostrils and I am taken back to the time when I was a tourist in the Ukraine looking for a small antique shop to meet a man who was known as Mr. Yakiv (though I’m certain that was not his real name). I entered his shop, a small, dusty affair and this man, not at all the small fellow I expected from his precise penmanship (he abhorred anything modern, especially computers), was burly to the point of stocky, as though he had swallowed a dozen stacking dolls and come out the victor. He barely looked up from his meal and bits of congealed fat stock in his Van Dyke. He bid me sit and pulled out what I had come for, a small vial with unintelligible writing. “This is what you want, boy?” he asked. His English was good, though rusty, and heavily accented. I am well traveled and had little trouble understanding. He rocked the small vial back and forth in his meaty hand. It glistened in the lamplight more than his beard. “Hard to come by this,” he tilted the small vial and the few golden drops raced along the side like mercury, but it wasn’t.
I reached out my hand to take it. I was never much of a conversationalist and the less he knew about the agency’s affairs, the better. He grabbed my wrist. Hard. I reversed the hold and he stepped back, nodding. “You’ll have to be faster than that to take on vampyr. But you know that. Agency boys always know just enough to get into trouble.” He handed me the vial. “You do know, the vampyr is not the real problem, don’t you?”

I shrugged. It usually gets people to keep talking. In this case, it didn’t. “You have a workshop, I’ve been told?”

He livened up and led me behind the bookshelves and past the bric-a-brac to a rusty metal door, complete with retinal scanner built into the wall. “One can never be too careful,” he said and the door slid away revealing a well-lit chamber adorned with a hydroponic garden reeking heavily of garlic, hemp, and rosemary. I saw his array of alchemy equipment along one large table and he offered me a seat at a small adjacent table where his gun tools were all laid out. He had a dozen different oils he had concocted himself. They smelled overpoweringly of death. I pulled a small clip of special hollowed out rounds and began the laborious process of mixing the oils with the, shall we say, special ingredient, Mr. Yakiv had provided (at no small price).

“Now, the real problem you will be facing is the Pandorans. Have you ever faced them?” I paused. I had only heard them mentioned of in whispers before and I could not help, despite my training, to ask. “No, but please, go on…”